Beliefs
by doubted
Summary: Dramione. Will they kill eachother, or will they find what they're looking for? Beliefs will be questioned and punches will be thrown. Mature content and language.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Draco Malfoy needs protection from the Dark Lord, so he begrudgingly gets Dumbledore's help. The headmaster sends him on a mission to find Vela Malfoy's heirloom, which may or may not be able to undo the resurrection process Peter Pettigrew used to bring back Voldemort.

But there's one slight catch Draco wasn't informed of when agreeing to this mission.

A certain bushy-haired, incredibly intelligent mudblood would be accompanying him.

* * *

A/N

This is my first fic. I've been reading these lately, and they seem like a fun project, so I figured I'd try my luck at writing my own }:) This fic will have mature content, explicit sexual scenes, foul language, yada yada yada, so if you're underage this might not be the fic for you. Please review, I **love** constructive criticism ;)

Beliefs, by doubted

"A belief is not merely an idea the mind possesses. It is an idea that possesses the mind."-_Robert Oxton Bolton_

*~*Chapter 1*~*

"I worry about her, Albus." McGonagall's hands were clasped in front of her, and the concern was evident in her posture. "Hermione needs a purpose. I care about her safety, and what she's doing is clearly not healthy."

Dumbledore looked at her thoughtfully. There was the slightest hint of a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He spoke slowly. "Alas, Minerva. You must trust me."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Hermione's shoes slapped against the stone floor as she left her last class and strode towards the library. Brushing past crowds of loitering students, her feet led her without even thinking.

The route to her favorite place in Hogwarts was well memorized in Hermione's mind. Her strides were purposeful and her eyes narrowed in a look of determination. Despite the hurt she felt at her two best friends leaving her behind, Hermione insisted to herself that she would _not_ just sit here and be useless while Harry and Ron were away.

She would continue researching and reading every book she could find on dark magic until she found something useful to the cause.

Harry had left 2 weeks ago with the Order to travel and warn wizards, and some other species, about the impending war. And hopefully also recruit some allies. Ron had gone with, but no one had told Hermione anything until after they'd left. Dumbledore had said Ron and Harry had decided they'd rather keep her here, out of harm's way. She seethed. How could they be so stupid? They needed her help.

Turning the last corner, she reached the entrance of the Hogwarts library. She let out a frustrated breath and pulled open the doors.

The late September afternoon light streamed through the windows, bathing everything in a warm golden glow and illuminating the particles of dust floating through the air. Two third year Hufflepuffs sat at a table nearby, discussing something in a whisper. Hermione padded inside and set her books down at a table near the back corner, as the Hufflepuffs were sitting at her usual seat. Sighing quietly, she picked up where she had left off in the heavy volume of; "Early Forms of Dark Magic", and resumed her research.

xxxxxxxxx

Draco lay on his dorm's bed and stretched, his muscles flexing under his shirt. The window was open, letting in the cool evening air. He stared up at the ceiling and wondered where he would be a year from now. Would he be dead? He sighed and shut his eyes. He could be.

It was possible that he could be dead by this time next year.

Not wanting to think about that, he tried hard to think about other things. His mind flitted from quidditch, to Pansy Parkinson, to his father, then Voldemort, then back to death.

He didn't want to die. He _really_ didn't want to die. He had things he wanted to do with his life. Ambitions. Hopes and dreams.

Draco didn't want to take the mark. He had heard of the things it could do to a person. It was rumored the tattoo tainted you. Blackened and twisted your soul until you were just another mindless soldier to the darkness. He was perfectly content being a prat, but he wasn't sure he wanted to be a murderer.

Frankly, the mark scared him. When Lucius had taken it, he had noticed changes in his demeanor. The proud gleam in his eye was slowly fading to a deranged hollowness.

Lucius had been pressuring him to take the mark, but he had put it off thus far. He had a terrible fear of losing himself in it.

Sighing through his nose, Draco rubbed his neck. He didn't see any way out of it. It's not like he could just say; "yeah hey, great army and all, but I think I'll pass" to the dark lord. He would just have to keep putting it off until he figured something out.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hermione hadn't noticed the light from the windows dimming until her eyes began to droop and her vision was fuzzy with exhaustion. But by that time, it was already dark. She yawned and dragged her attention away from the words in front of her to peer out the window, confused for a second before realizing she'd probably been there for quite some time. Her back creaked and popped as she moved out of the hard chair, and she gathered her books in her arms. Straightening too quickly, she swayed then shut her eyes, fighting dizziness. She meandered back towards the library door and out into the corridor. Too tired to walk with purpose, she trudged along, her feet dragging and her books feeling heavier than they had earlier. The Gryffindor portrait allowed her inside, and she continued up to her room, still swaying with exhaustion. Since Harry and Ron left, her sleeping patterns had all gone to hell. As had her eating. She often skipped meals to research, and her appearance was going downhill quickly. She was too skinny to be healthy, and her curly mane of hair had turned dull from lack of nutrition. There were dark rings under her eyes and her overall skin tone had turned a greyish pale. Hermione tried not to notice, continuing to lose herself completely in her work.

She entered her dorm and dropped her books on her desk. Being head girl, she had a dorm to herself, and she much enjoyed the solitude. It allowed her to concentrate better. As much as she enjoyed having friends, she didn't want the distraction of maintaining a social life. She wanted to focus on her research. They were at war after all, her personal needs could wait.

xxxxxxxxxxxx Saturday

"Rnnf," Hermione woke abruptly with a grunt. Her face was smushed into her pillow. She began to turn her head, and then stopped suddenly with a wince. The beginnings of a migraine blossomed behind her eyes, and she cursed. Turning as slowly as she could manage, she rolled on her back. When the bright sunlight shined through her window and assaulted her eyes, she winced again and pulled a blanket over her head.

She felt muddled and confused. Thinking back to the night previous, she couldn't remember when exactly she had fallen asleep. She was tangled in a mess of her bedding and her hair was even fluffier than normal. She was dressed in a mixture of pajamas and school robes. Sitting up slowly, as to not annoy her headache, she glanced at the small clock on the wall. It took a few seconds for her still sleepy brain to register the time, then her eyes widened. She was late for Potions! Ignoring the protesting pain in her head, she threw more clothing on as quickly as possible, and used her wand to summon her books. They flew through the air and landed in her arms with a hurried _thunk_. Hermione stumbled out the door and ran down the hallway, not fully paying attention to where she was going. She sprinted around a corner, her tractionless shoes sliding a bit on the stone. She hardly had time to slow down before she ran right smack into Ginny.

"_Woah_, slow down, why the rush?" Ginny's hands had clasped around Hermione's upper arms when the frazzled brunette had crashed into her. Ginny steadied her as she swayed, and she shook her head to try and clear her mental fog. She instantly regretted it when her headache pounded in protest.

She let out an involuntary whimper, and quickly attempted to turn it in to an annoyed whine. Judging by the worried look on the redhead's face, she hadn't bought it.

"I'm sorry, Ginny, I'm late for class. I really need to be going." She made to pull herself from the steadying hands, but the other girl tightened her grip.

"Hermione, its Saturday." Ginny's lips were pressed together and her eyebrows drawn down in a look of concern. That look was only amplified when she took in Hermione's sickly appearance. The brunette's eyes were glazed yet still panicked and wide, her lips were chapped, and her skin was grey. Her hair was a rat's nest and she couldn't seem to catch her breath, her chest heaving.

"What? That's not right..." Hermione's mistake dawned on her then, and her cheeks turned pink with embarrassment. Wasn't she supposed to be the brightest witch of her age? She blushed harder.

"Hermione, are you feeling alright? You look ill." Ginny paused and frowned, looking worried. "Do you want me to take you to Madam Pomfrey?" she asked uncertainly.

Hermione was hit with a pang of affection then, and she smiled weakly. It was reassuring to know that someone cared, but she still refused the offer. She would hate to distract the nurse with her petty insomnia issues. There could be other students needing medical attention.

"No. I'm alright Ginny, thanks. I'll just head back to my dorm and get some more sleep." The Weasley sister looked doubtful, but Hermione smiled again and left before she could protest. Spinning on her heel, she attempted to walk with dignity back to her dorm.

xxxxxxxxxxxx Sunday

Draco paced angrily, oblivious to the glares Snape was giving him.

"Sit down." Snape growled. Draco didn't seem to hear him.

Draco had thought through his situation many times in the night, and had come to the conclusion that he needed help. He shoved down his pride and went to his mentor in the morning, telling him his doubts about Voldemort, and his dread about taking the mark. Draco knew Snape was a spy for the order, but had agreed not to tell his family or Voldemort. He would rather not see his mentor killed. Snape hadn't seemed at all surprised that Draco was unwilling to serve the Dark Lord. He had seemed like he knew all of it already. Draco was a little panicked at that thought, were his doubts that obvious to anyone? Surely not, or his father would've punished him. He inwardly shuddered at that thought. Lucius had never been particularly fatherly, but lately he had seemed much crueler. Never showing any signs of affection, and pinning everything on Draco when something went wrong. Draco still felt the need to make his father proud, but he couldn't go any farther. He wouldn't become a death-eater. He couldn't do that.

"I thought you said he was here. Where the hell is he?" Draco spat in Snape's direction, growing more agitated by the second. After Draco had told Snape about his predicament, much to his dismay, his mentor had gone to Dumbledore. They had been in the headmaster's office for probably a good ten minutes now, and Draco wasn't one to be patient. Snape was sitting in one of the chairs near the corner, while Draco continued pacing. He hadn't slept a wink last night, but he was still full to the brim with angry pent up energy. He would have much preferred to leave the old headmaster out of this, but Snape had insisted Dumbledore could offer protection. A safehouse perhaps, somewhere where Voldemort couldn't find him once it was known Draco was a traitor.

Draco would be a traitor. To one of the most powerful evil wizards of all time. He felt suddenly sick.

Hearing the headmaster enter, Draco whirled in his direction.

"Took you bloody long enough," Draco snarled.

Dumbledore's grey robes swished as he moved into the room. He hadn't yet looked at Draco, simply turning to face Snape in the corner. His face was lined with wrinkles, and his eyes showed wisdom. "Severus, I have spoken good friend about a place which could offer Mr. Malfoy protection, but I'm afraid I must ask a favor of him first. One that has to do with his family," Albus ignored Draco and solely spoke to his mentor. Draco silently fumed at the brush off, but didn't say anything. Then, as the headmaster's words sunk in, Draco grew wary.

"What will you have him do?" Snape asked slowly. Even reclining on a plush chair, Draco's mentor looked menacing. His dark robes were the same color as his lanky hair, and his eyes were cold. His voice was a low growl.

"As you well know, we are at war. And we need all the help we can get." Dumbledore paused, looking to Draco, acknowledging his presence for the first time, and then looking back to Snape. "I have been informed that the Malfoy family possesses an heirloom that could help us win this war. I would, if possible, like Mr. Malfoy to retrieve it." Draco was baffled. He had no idea what the headmaster was talking about. An artifact that his family owned that could help win the war? He'd never heard of such a thing. Maybe the headmaster really was a loon. He definitely seemed like it sometimes.

Draco huffed. "There is no such thing," he said. If his family owned something like that, surely he would know about it. Wouldn't he?

"It was owned by your ancestors long ago, and it's been lost. I'd like you to find it." The headmaster seemed completely sure of his knowledge, his voice steady. Draco truly believed he was a loon.

"Are you bloody insane? I have no idea where it would be. You said yourself it was lost." Draco's spat out each word.

"I'm confident in your capabilities, but just in case, I've enlisted one of our best researchers in Hogwarts to help you." The headmaster seemed unfazed by Draco's agitated state. "And as soon as you've located it, I have a place arranged for you where you'll be safe."

Draco faltered at the headmaster's words. It would be nice to stop constantly worrying about death and the Dark Lord. Truly safe… It was tempting. But what if Voldemort won the war? What would Draco do then?

He stopped his train of thought. Thinking about that wouldn't help. He couldn't join Voldemort's side. He had to rely on the goody-gryffindors to win the war.

With that thought, Draco realized that his situation might actually be worse than he imagined. Fucking peachy.

"Well what is the damn thing, anyways?" he asked. He was honestly curious.

"Your ancestor, Vela Malfoy was a great witch. However, she dabbled quite a bit in the dark arts. It is believed she created a magical item that had the ability to reverse magical resurrection, and it only requires a single incantation. I believe it could also reverse the certain ritual that Voldemort used to regain his body."

Draco gaped. Could it be that simple? Would Dumbledore trust him with such an important task? Then he remembered; the headmaster was sending someone else on the mission as well.

"Who would be going with me?" he asked cautiously. He had a niggling feeling, due to Dumbledore's expression at that moment, that he wouldn't like the answer.

"I haven't approached her yet, but she's been eager to help with the war. She's quite brilliant." The headmaster's eyes twinkle. He hadn't quite answered the question.

Draco's eyes narrowed, but Snape interrupted him before he could ask anything more. "It would be wise to accept the offer." Snape commanded. He would almost say he caught a look of worry flash across his mentor's face. What would he be worried about?

"Alright, yea, I'll do it." Draco said gruffly. Then he sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. They'd be screwed if he didn't find it. The scraggly bunch of witches and wizards that made up the Order was hardly any match for an army of death-eaters.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Monday

Hermione could not conceal the look of anxiety that had coated her face for the past hour. McGonagall had approached her after Transfigurations, informing her that Dumbledore would need to see her after her next class. Her mind had flashed to every possible bad situation, the most pressing being her two best friends. Were they alright?

The older witch, upon seeing Hermione's terror, quickly assured her it was nothing tragic. But McGonagall had not offered a reassuring smile, and Hermione could've sworn she saw a flash of pity cross the professor's features.

The young witch couldn't shake the feeling of dread that clung to her gut as she made her way through the castle's halls to the Headmaster's office.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N

AAAHH I've gotten reviews already. You have no idea how happy I am. I've been blubbering around in a stupor of giddiness all night.

Also, on another note, I don't think horcruxes will be included in this fic, as that would complicate things. Dumbledore is not dead, and I apologize for any mistakes, as I have not read the books. This fic is probably not going to follow the books, or movies, or anything closely, it's going to be very much my own. I might mistake some things, but I have read quite a few Dramione fics already and I'm hoping that's enough HP knowledge for me to blunder through the first few chapters until I do read the books. I plan on reading them soon, though, so hopefully this fic will be more HP accurate then. :)

*~*Chapter 2*~*

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Draco's stance was tense and angry as his eyes stayed locked on the mudblood, who was looking rather dazed, standing on unsure feet in the doorway. Hermione _fucking_ Granger. He would be going on a wild goose chase for the nonexistent heirloom with Hermione_ fucking_ Granger. His rage was palpable, as was her confusion.

Hermione eyed the slytherin and his mentor warily, before turning to the Headmaster.

"Sir, why am I here?"

Dumbledore explained the situation slowly, and Draco hoped, with all of his being, that she'd refuse to help. Draco didn't need the help of a mudblood, after all. If the stupid artifact was indeed real, he'd find it.

Hermione looked thoughtful, and much to his dismay, he could see a look of excitement beginning to overtake her ugly mudblood face.

Draco thought, very seriously, about refusing to work with her. Or asking for another task. But these thoughts made him uncomfortable, and he knew even while thinking about it, that he'd never succumb to the cowardly urge. And if there was one thing Draco Malfoy hated more than the mudblood, it was looking cowardly.

Hermione's eyes left the professor again to glance nervously at the intimidating blonde slytherin. Their eyes met, and Draco scowled, making his dislike of the situation very clear. She regarded him for a moment before turning her gaze back to Dumbledore.

"But sir, why me?" Hermione asked the aging headmaster timidly. "Certainly there are more qualified students, or someone else to help with research.." Her soft voice trailed off as she studied her shoes.

"Oh but there aren't. You are the top student currently-," At this, Draco's glare at the frizzy haired girl turned positively murderous. "-and if anyone can find it, I'm sure it'll be you." He smiled at the young witch the way a father would smile at their only daughter. Hermione gave a small, modest smile back. Draco nearly upchucked his lunch right then and there.

"If you two are done with the disgusting love fest," Draco drawled, "I'd like to ask a few questions."

Hermione's nervousness at being personally handed a task from the headmaster quickly turned to anger at the slytherin's rude comment. What a prat. She narrowed her eyes at him, but the gesture went completely unnoticed, as he was now refusing to look at her.

"Of course." Dumbledore was seemingly immune to the boy's disrespect.

"My family's got a shit-ton of heirlooms, how are we supposed to know what to look for?" Draco had the gall to look down at the headmaster, as if Dumbledore were nothing but a first-year blocking his way in the hall. His inane arrogance was slowly pushing Hermione towards rage, and she took a few deep breaths in. She would not let him get to her. She would prove to Dumbledore that he had made a good choice in choosing her for this search. She focused on the rejuvenating fact that she would _finally_ be doing something important for the war. She would finally be able to help her friends. And in a drastic way, too. If they were somehow able to find this abstract item, they might be able to end the war before it began.

But she caught herself suddenly, as there was something important missing.

"And.. What about classes? What about school?" She added on to Draco's question before Dumbledore could answer. Draco snorted. Always worrying about the academics. Typical Granger.

The headmaster brought his hand up and rubbed his temple briefly, thinking. He brought it back down to his side again as he spoke. "I suppose, if you continue to study while you are away, it won't be a problem. We are at war, after all-," fleetingly, Draco's arrogant façade slipped away at this, as he was reminded how precarious of a position he was in. "-some things are allowed to slip. And you are two of my best pupils. Missing a month or two won't leave you too far behind. You _both_ are exceptional students. I trust you both to find the heirloom without too much trouble."

Hermione looked conflicted, no doubt wishing there was a way to somehow stay in classes while traveling, but nodded anyway. Draco stifled the urge to childishly roll his eyes at her concern over school.

"Alright, I agree. I'll help." Hermione's face was plastered with determination. Draco once again felt like tossing his lunch. Stupid bloody gryffindors. No matter what, they always managed to have their thoughts written all across their faces.

Snape, who had been sitting in the back witnessing the whole conversation silently, now rose to address the headmaster.

"I have _things_ to attend to." '_Things_' was drawn out, slow and calculated, in a way that only Severus Snape could manage. "_Try_ not to screw this up" This was directed at the young blonde slytherin now arrogantly sprawled in another chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. Snape exited the headmaster's office, his stance dignified and his dark robes flowing in the wake of his brisk walk.

Hermione stood nearby, too mixed up in a jumble of emotions to be able to sit. She was close enough to the headmaster to still be a part of the conversation, but far enough from Malfoy that you'd think she thought he was diseased. He might as well be, to her. She briefly flashed back to all of the times he tormented her over the years passed, and stifled a shudder at the thought of having to be in close quarters with him. But she would do it. It was a small price to pay to help her friends, and help with the war. She put the angry thoughts of Malfoy out of her mind, and again focused instead on all the good she would be doing by searching for this object.

Draco rose, then, once again looking down at the professor.

"If we're done here, I have better things to be doing as well." Draco didn't wait for a response. He turned and strode towards the exit, without even bothering to glance at the gryffindor witch standing near the wall. His not looking at her was deliberate, and Hermione knew it. She felt, then, that she knew exactly what Malfoy was thinking about her.

And she was right. He was thinking that the filthy, ugly mudblood was not even good enough to look at.

Surging with sudden passionate anger, she spun and followed him out into the hallway, pinning him against the far wall as soon as they were out of earshot of the headmaster. A look of surprise briefly overtook his features, before they morphed back into his infuriating mask of calm smugness. Hermione was losing control of her rage quickly, and that fact scared her, but she couldn't seem to stop.

"_You pathetic, gutless, arrogant piece of shit_." The curse word was foreign on her tongue, as she wasn't fond of profanity, but she hid it well. Her words were soaked with venom. Years and years of his torment and arrogance bubbled up in her mind, and she was no longer Hermione Granger, she was simply a vessel for this overpowering, volatile rage. It was hate in the simplest form coursing through her veins. She realized then that he had not technically done anything drastic to provoke her anger, but she still couldn't stop herself.

Hermione's rage continued to fill her, until, like flipping channels, Draco's smug expression turned dark. Her rage simmered away then, and she subconsciously took a step back. He immediately stepped forward to make up the lost space, and she suddenly found him to be much too close. Draco was taller than her, and he looked down at her the way a cat would look down at a cornered mouse. There was a sort of predatory glee in his gaze, and she would never admit it, but this was the first time Draco Malfoy had actually frightened her.

"What, did I make the buck-toothed bitch mad?"

"You're too close, Malfoy. Step back." Her voice only quivered ever so slightly, but she knew he'd heard it.

"Oh, _sorry_," his mock apology dripped with sarcasm. "Salazar forbid a man get too close to the untouchable, frigid virgin fortress that is Hermione Granger." He didn't move, continuing to hover his face inches above her own.

All her rage returned, then, and chased away any fear of the blonde standing inches away. But before her scathing retort left her lips, he continued.

"Or, perhaps that's not your cup of tea. Well, would you imagine that. A filthy mudblood _and_ a dyke."

Hermione's rage reached critical mass, and for the second time in both their lives, her knuckles collided with his elfish, aristocratic nose.

There was a small stunned silence as both registered pain. Then it was over, and Malfoy was screaming shocked insults as Hermione fled down the hallway, clutching her hand and blinking away the tears now streaming down her freckled cheeks.

She missed the rest of her classes that afternoon, and slept the rest of the day.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Tuesday

Hermione's frustrated sighs echoed through her dorm, breaking the silence. She wished she could feel that same relief that she felt after she punched Malfoy third year, but instead, all that she could seem to feel was nervous guilt. She was the one who initiated the fight, after all. It hadn't just been his relentless, unprovoked teasing that caused this outcome. This time it was her fault, and she had resorted to violence

Unlike Draco, who never seemed to be able to sit down when angered, Hermione stood stock still in the middle of her dorm. Her back faced her bed, and her eyes stared unseeingly at the bottom of her door. The morning sunlight streamed in through her window, and had she not been lost in thought, she would've enjoyed the warm rays on her bare skin. But her mind couldn't seem to stop flitting back to the horrifying events of the day previous. The young witch sighed again. She alternated between berating herself for her temper, and wondering what she should do about it.

She could always just pretend like it never happened. Then she could get on with her life and continue her research. And hope Malfoy forgot about it too.

Like that was ever going to happen.

With another sigh, Hermione reached the decision to apologize to him at dinner. Even though Malfoy would never offer her any sort of apology had the roles been switched, she needed to be the better person. She would never lower herself to his level of stubborn arrogance.

And though she felt physically sick at the thought of apologizing to _Draco Malfoy_ in front of a table of his slytherin comrades, her gryffindor determination would not let her back down.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Draco carefully leaned over the bathroom sink, staring at himself in the mirror, eyeing the damage in his reflection done by the little mudblood bitch. He had decided not to see Pomfrey or heal anything, as he held on to some hope that the visible injuries would score him something with Pansy.

Ever since the scrape on his arm from that disgusting beast, Buckbeak, he'd learned to go directly to Pansy Parkinson after an injury. Her pity tended to lead to some interesting sweaty, clothes-less results in hallway closets and empty classrooms. After Buckbeak had been the first time he'd been in the same room as a naked girl, and while they didn't actually do anything, it was still an exciting discovery.

Sadly, he'd never been particularly fond of the pug-faced, dark haired slytherin girl, but his parents seemed to like her. He knew where this would lead him. One day he'd most likely be married to her, so might as well get acquainted to her. And her body.

Well, mostly her body.

To his defense, there really wasn't much else to get to know. They'd never talked about anything more than Draco's injuries, sex, and homework assignments, and Draco had a feeling there really wasn't much else to her. She didn't quite strike him as the intellectual type.

And that suited him fine, so long as the empty classroom and hallway closet visits continued.

The fact that he'd have to marry her someday didn't exactly give him butterflies in the stomach, but he knew it was how things worked. He had no other choice. Pansy was pureblood, and her family was wealthy. She would be a suitable mate for Draco.

He hoped the cut on his nose and small bruise near his eye would be enough to get her into an empty closet with him.

He inspected himself in the mirror for a few more minutes, staring into his own grey eyes, and smoothing back his platinum hair (_he really was devilishly handsome, wasn't he_?), before heading down to dinner.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hermione was already seated alongside Ginny and Luna at the gryffindor table when she saw Malfoy saunter in, and she was suddenly hit with just how bad an idea it really was. But, unfortunately, she had already made up her mind. She inhaled through her nose and stood, ignoring the questions from her two friends, and made her way towards the tall blonde.

More and more sets of slytherin eyes locked on her the closer she got to his table, but Malfoy still hadn't spotted her yet. He had taken a seat near Pansy, and was now caught up in whatever they were talking about. Judging by the look of tender sympathy on the dark haired girl's face, and the way she was stroking his cheek; he was weaving some gruesome yet self-flattering tale of how he got his injuries. No doubt she was buying every word of it.

Just as Pansy was leaning in to plant a kiss on Draco's arrogant, bowed lips, he turned his head and caught sight of the gryffindor girl now just a few steps away. Pansy's own thin lips awkwardly landed on Malfoy's cheek, instead. He paid her no attention.

"Hello, mudbl-,"

"I'm sorry I hit you." The words fell out of Hermione's mouth, cutting off his insult. The slytherins within the vicinity were looking at her with a guarded curiosity, but she ignored them.

Draco's haughty mask dropped, momentarily replaced by surprise, then anger. But before he could insult her yet again, she turned and hastily retreated back to her own table. He glared at her for the rest of dinner, but Hermione felt better. Despite the fact that she'd just abruptly unraveled whatever lie he'd been weaving to Pansy.

In fact, she noted with childish glee, that part made her feel _loads_ better.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later that night, Hermione hurried back to her dorm, carrying a large stack of books she'd just retrieved from the library. She had been researching as much as possible since she was first informed of the mission, and already had extensive knowledge of the type of dark magic she suspected Vela had been using. She'd talk to Dumbledore, and hopefully he'd have some ideas as to where they could start the search.

Thoughts of Malfoy flitted through her mind, but still she couldn't help but smile.

She would put up with Malfoy for eternity if it meant ending the war.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N

Phew, I've been reading a ton more fics, and I have to say I've come back to this feeling a tad insecure about my writing abilities (_and I'm narcissistic to begin with, geez!). _I thought I was pretty damn good till I've started reading more of the ones out there, and wow. Some of you writers are Seriously. Fucking. Amazing. I'm just sitting here in total awe right now.

Anyways, I've decided that once I finish this fic, or even just halfway through, I'll do a makeover of sorts. I'll clear out some unneeded tidbits and make the writing a little better, and hopefully make a lot of things more accurate to the books. Believe me; I grind my teeth together in frustration every time I see a major unintentional clash with the books (obvious, careless timeline mistakes and etc). And I'm sure a lot of you are doing the same with mine because I've probably already got millions.

But anywho, on with the chapter!

Teeheehee, I've additionally added a teensy pinch of foreshadowing to this chapter, see if you can spot it;)

Also, I do tend to ramble, feel free to skip over the A/N's if you're not in the mood for my ramblings.

*~*Chapter 3*~* Wednesday

Draco woke in a foul mood.

Then again, Draco usually awoke in a foul mood, but this morning was different.

He had never been much of a morning person to begin with, but last night topped the cake on his bad luck. He'd had glorious, wonderful, unsavory intentions to bonk Pansy senseless, and everything had been falling into place perfectly.

Until miraculously, the all-noble gryffindor wench had to pick that moment to come and apologize of all things. Instantaneously shredding Draco's web of lies (_Oh Pansy, I got this terrible shiner whilst protecting your honor from another man who _dared_ question your worth_).If he hadn't known Hermione to be nicer than a Hufflepuff on happy potions, he would've suspected she pick that moment on purpose to make him look like a fool.

He'd been cockblocked by none other than the prude princess herself.

He'd spent the rest of dinner staring daggers at her, imagining in great detail how many ways he wished he could murder her.

Draco needed a good shag, badly. He was remarkably tense, after this pointless heirloom business. But of course, Granger had taken away his one release. It was just like her, too. Not only rejecting any form of physical advances upon her own self (he'd been witness to the Weasel's many failed attempts, alongside a few from Cormac McLaggen and Viktor Krum), she also had to effectively kill everyone else's too. The All-Mighty Mega Prude.

Two days ago, he thought he hated her as much as was possible. The night previous had clearly proved him wrong. He hated her now with a passion he hadn't known he'd contained. It was amazing, how his every thought was directed towards making her pay. Making her feel how strained he felt. Making her know the unsatisfying feeling of being forced to please oneself when there had previously been the promise of sex.

Draco Malfoy hated Hermione Granger with every molecule of his being. There was no doubt in his mind he would make her pay.

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Hermione woke with a smile plastered to her heart-shaped freckled face.

There was lightness in her step, and she felt better rested than she had in weeks. Her morning routine was finished quickly, and she headed off immediately to Dumbledore's office. There would be plenty of time to tell the headmaster of her research and plans before making it to classes.

Her smile remained glued to her face the entire walk to his office.

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"I've been researching nonstop since you assigned the mission, and I've already found a number of books that include the subject of magical resurrection. Although I'm not quite sure where I'd start off looking. Sadly I think Malfoy's parents wouldn't be too fond of me poking around the Malfoy Manor…" She stumbles on the word '_parents_', as that didn't seem like the proper title for the deatheater and his wife. The faintest unwelcome flash of pity for Draco darted through her, but she snuffed it out quickly. Hermione's sure he wouldn't appreciate the sympathy, and it wasn't her business to pity him, anyways.

"Unfortunately not." Dumbledore confirmed. "And there's another matter of importance that I absolutely must discuss with you, about Mr. Malfoy's privacy."

"Sir?"

"As I'm sure you've probably already imagined, this mission must be kept in the utmost secrecy. You, Malfoy, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, and I must be the only ones privileged to the information of its existence. It would not do to have the dark forces knowing of our plans before we begin to execute them. And this matter is critically important for the young Malfoy, as his situation is rather dire. No matter how, ah, opinionated he can be, you must try to always remember what a valiant choice he's making. To choose to leave everything he's known to this point to join the opposite team was certainly not an easy choice for him to make."

The headmaster's words brought another sobering batch of emotions regarding the blonde slytherin.

"I… Er, yes, I suppose I understand. It can sometimes be hard to remember when he's so… Straightforward." That wasn't quite the word she wanted, but it would have to do, as she did not want to seem ungrateful.

"And this, of course, means you must not tell Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley. I will tell your friends what they need to know of your absence."

Hermione swallowed her objections and nodded. She felt a pang of sadness that she wouldn't be able to say goodbye to Ginny or Luna, but it needed to be done. And she would be back before too long. They'd probably hardly notice she'd left.

"On the matter of where to begin the journey, I might have found just the place." Dumbledore crossed the room with a spryness that shouldn't have been possible for someone his age. Approaching a floor to ceiling bookshelf, he pulled a small leatherbound book from a lower shelf. It looked to be… a diary?

"I happen to know about Vela's artifact because I sought out her diary for purely selfish reasons regarding another matter. I managed to accidently stumble across a solution to the impending war with plain dumb luck." He chuckled.

Hermione was again hit with just how simple it could all be. She reveled in the weight that was placed on her shoulders. She finally had control of the situation. _She could end this war_.

Pulling her attention back to the diary Dumbledore was now handing her, she examined it slowly. Very, very old dark leather, and three initials etched in silver. VSM. Hermione could feel the energy flowing off of the object.

"Malfoy's ancestor owned a small cottage in the country. It would be the best place to start. Also, she shared it with a muggle man. One who she later married."

Hermione blinked as the words sunk in. One of Draco's pureblood ancestors ran off with a muggle.

"She was exiled from the family, and thus severed from the public eye, which is why Draco does not know of her existence." The headmaster explained further.

Much like Draco's living aunt, Andromeda. Hermione felt a twist of disgust in her gut. The way pureblood fanatics led their lives was unfathomable to her.

_Nothing should stop two people in love from being together_. Hermione, ever the closet romantic, thought sadly. _It must've been torture to have to make the choice to tear oneself away from family just to be with the one she loved_.

Halting the distracting musing, (_they were at war, for Godric's sake, there was no time for these girlish thoughts_) Hermione flipped through the pages of the small journal. She could feel the powerful magic from the item brush against her aura, and it sent shivers down her spine.

She saw many notes on old spells, and other notes on simple day-to-day life. It was a very personal journal, documenting thoughts and speculations on everything from dark magic to muggles. She stopped on the page Dumbledore had found, and a small magical photograph fluttered to the ground. Hermione leaned down and picked it up by its edges, being careful not to damage the aged paper. She squinted and examined it.

It was a black and white photograph, showing the swirling leaves in fall trickling down on a small yet elegant cottage. She couldn't tell the color of the paint on the outside, but the little building seemed cheery. The hedges were trimmed immaculately, and the windows gleamed.

"Is this the cottage?" Hermione asked, still peering at the 3x2 inch picture.

"Indeed. It's located near a small muggle village in Wales." Dumbledore watched her continue to study the photograph.

"Who owns it now? Will we be able to search it?" Hermione's gaze flicked up from the paper, and her eyes were filled to the brim with curiosity. At that moment, she reminded Dumbledore of her first year self, wide eyed and eager to absorb all there was to learn.

"The property was passed down and is now in the ownership of their muggle descendants. I'm not sure as to whether you'll be permitted to search the grounds, of course, but it's worth a try. It's the best place to start."

Hermione nodded and looked down at the elegant diary again.

"Sir… May I keep this? For the time being, that is. I just think it would help greatly and it would be so much easier to find the heirloom if I could study this." Her unsure words stumbled out of her mouth rapidly.

"By all means, keep it for as long as necessary. Although, tell anyone I gave it to you, and they'd have my head for willingly handing a student such detailed writings of the workings of dark spells. So this must also be kept confidential. And keep it safe, it wouldn't do to have this falling into the wrong hands." His expression was grave, and his gruff, wise voice was tense with the warning.

"Of course, sir."

"Now, best be off to class. I will inform all of your teachers of your absence and have the proper material you'll need for studying delivered to your room. I trust you can be fully packed by morning tomorrow?"

"Yes, I have all of the books on resurrection magic from the library packed already."

"You'll most likely need clothing, too." Dumbledore said, feigning seriousness. A blush crept up to the young witch's cheeks as she smiled sheepishly.

"Mr. Malfoy will be informed of the plan as well. You two will be off as soon as possible tomorrow morning."

Hermione groaned inwardly. She'd already forgotten about her pale blonde tagalong, and Dumbledore's statement had pulled her back to the unpleasant reality. _Honestly, my work would go a lot faster if he didn't have to be dragged along with. He'll just make everything difficult._ She longed to voice her opinion, but she doubted the headmaster would change his mind.

She wasn't sure Malfoy would be able to survive this trip without having his important bits hexed off by her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hermione skipped her last class of the day to make sure she had enough time to pack everything.

Her magenta muggle sweatshirt was the last item she packed. She swiped the back of her hand delicately over her forehead and sat down on her bed. She wasn't sure what she'd need for the trip, but she didn't want to be without anything she needed. So in a nervous rush, she packed everything. Granted, she didn't have that much muggle clothing with her to begin with. And everything was conservative. She hardly ever dressed for looks, unless the occasion called for it. She did own makeup, at the insistence of some of her more girly friends, but had hardly any idea how to use it. Other than on fancy occasions, where she'd have Ginny or Parvati do it for her, she never used the stuff.

She packed her makeup bag anyways, as she didn't want to be without anything she'd possibly need. Also, by packing everything, she'd included a pretty turquoise colored dress she'd been planning to wear when she went out with Ginny, but she'd be traveling during the time her and Ginny were supposed to be going out, so she wouldn't be needing it for that anymore. The fabric of the dress shimmered as it sailed through the air and into her trunk.

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Draco packed sparingly, including only what he thought he'd need. He'd been to the library in an attempt to check out some books to help find the heirloom, but had been informed all of the volumes on magical resurrection had been checked out.

Of course, he hadn't needed to ask who checked them out.

Some competitive part of him was angry that she'd managed to do everything so far, and he'd done nothing but fantasize about ways to violently murder her. After all, if they found the heirloom, it would benefit him immensely. Voldemort would be dead, and Draco would be able to live without looking over his shoulder constantly. He hated the stupid bloody Order of the Phoenix lot, but at least they wouldn't kill him as ruthlessly as Voldemort would.

The Dark Lord would torture him endlessly, until he was begging for death. The cruel, disgusting creature would make an example of him. He'd have an audience watch Draco writhing on the ground, broken and battered from multiple rounds of the cruciatus curse. _See here minions, this is what happens when you betray me, kapeesh?_

Unless Draco could kill him first. Or un-resurrect him, or whatever the bloody heirloom did.

There was no way puffball Potter could do it, if Draco wanted it done, he'd have to do it himself. He'd be betraying an army, his family, and an evil bloodthirsty nose-less creature, not to mention turning his back on everything he'd ever known.

_Bloody. Fucking. Peachy._


	4. Chapter 4

A/N

Thank you to the 6 people who have reviewed thus far, I really appreciate it :)

*~*Chapter 4*~* Thursday

Draco entered Dumbledore's office with his usual arrogant swagger. Out of the corner of his eye as he approached the desk, he saw Hermione roll her eyes. He ignored her, reclining in the same chair he'd been seated in a few days previous. He kept his gaze fixed ahead of him, still refusing to look at the mudblood, and instead focused on the aging headmaster.

Hermione stayed standing in the same spot she'd been in previously as well. There was enough room between them to fit two sparring giants.

"You're both packed?" the headmaster asked, and seeing both his pupils nod, he continued. "You will be taking the train, which should drop you off at a small city not far from the village where the cottage is located. There is enough muggle money here," at this he held out a thick white envelope to Draco, as the blonde was closest, "to be able to pay for food and lodging for your entire stay. The train tickets are in there as well."

Draco opened it and peered inside, seeing nothing but strange pieces of paper. He stuck his nose in the air, and held the envelope out in Hermione's direction dismissively, still not looking at her. He felt it slide from his hand as she took it, and snapped his hand back when her ink-stained pinky accidently brushed his long, pale, well-manicured index finger. Forgetting his silent vow not to look at her, he sent her a cold glare. His eyes caught hers and she subconsciously puffed her chest up. She looked rather like a kitten puffing up its fur in an attempt to try and intimidate a predator. Draco smirked at how easily he could ruffle her.

Dropping her gaze away from Malfoy, Hermione opened the envelope and flipped through the money. Her eyebrows rose slowly as she counted the amount. How Dumbledore acquired it, she wasn't sure, but it was a rather large sum. It would certainly last them the entirety of their stay. The train tickets were in the back, behind the money.

She wasn't sure why Dumbledore was making them take the train (there were so many other options, faster and less expensive), but she didn't argue. She enjoyed train rides anyway, and she was just thankful he hadn't said they would have to fly by broom. Further inspecting them, she pulled a ticket halfway out of the envelope with her thumb. It was then that Hermione saw the time of departure on the tickets.

"Sir, we should be leaving, the train boards in less than half an hour." Hermione said nervously.

"Well, then, off you go." Dumbledore made a shooing gesture, and Draco rose from the plush chair.

Hermione made to exit, but stopped to hear the headmaster's farewell.

"And, good luck." Dumbledore's voice was warm, but it held tones of seriousness. "I do hope you realize the gravity of this task."

He paused for a second, thinking. "Also, I would avoid using real names, for obvious reasons."

Hermione nodded. Draco had made his way around both of them and exited without a sound. Hermione followed slowly, turning to wave a farewell once she reached the doorway, then ducking out to follow the hostile slytherin.

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Hermione gazed out the train's window, watching as trees and shrubbery raced past. It was wonderfully scenic, and the weather was decent. It was windy, the trees in the far background whipped around wildly, but there wasn't a single cloud in the September sky.

She had picked the first car to the left, or the back, when she'd stepped on the train. Her luggage was in the seat across from her, and she had a book from the library in her lap. She wasn't sure which car Malfoy was in, but she hardly cared. She might be in a situation that forced her to work with him, but that didn't mean she had to care about his whereabouts. He could take a broom and fly to Russia, for all she cared. It would probably lessen the distraction and help her find the heirloom that much quicker.

Hermione's mind suddenly flashed back to all the times she'd sat with Harry and Ron on this train, and she was hit with a pang of longing for her two best friends. She felt incomplete without them. She kept expecting Harry to say how much of a git Malfoy was, or Ron to congratulate her on her well-aimed punch to his nose.

She missed them immensely, and wished it could be them instead of Malfoy going on this trip with her. She missed Ron's warm hugs, and Harry's sensitivity. She even sometimes found herself missing Ron's monstrous appetite. And as much as she appreciated Luna and Ginny spending more time with her, it wasn't the same.

She'd never hated anything as much as she hated this war. How it was tearing apart friendships, families, and relationships. It hit her hardest in the mornings, when she'd wake up thinking everything was normal, and then her memory would return to her and everything would come crashing back down.

She knew most girls in her situation would be crying, but she couldn't seem to find the strength in herself to cry anymore. She simply kept going through the motions, researching, going to classes, and doing her schoolwork. Allowing herself to stop and cry would be a waste of time. Time that could be better spent finding ways to help.

And she'd never admit it, but she knew if she let herself cry, she might not be able to stop.

She sighed and placed her hand on the train car's cold window, wishing Harry and Ron could be there with her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Draco dropped his face in his hands and exhaled through his nose.

Draco hadn't thought to pack any books, and he was regretting it. He had nothing to read, and watching the landscape speed by out the train window was making him queasy with motion sickness.

Deciding a little Granger degrading might put his nerves at ease, he stood and slid his car door open. Striding down the length of the train towards the car he saw her enter earlier, he controlled his face into a mask of arrogance. Seeing her curled up on the seat closest to the window with her nose in a book, he made a split second decision and pulled her car door open.

"Oi, mudblood," Draco stepped in and looked down at her with an expression that made Hermione's stomach churn uneasily. He was too close for her liking, and again he had a predatory gleam to his eyes. Her muscles tensed with trepidation and she waited for the insults to come. Instead, what left his mouth could almost be construed as polite. "You checked out every book in the library on bringing people back from the dead. Let me borrow one, I have nothing to read up on." Draco's foot tapped against the carpeted floor of the train, and his hand was still on the door to steady himself. Hermione's eyes grew wide, and she stared at the blonde in the doorway like he'd just sprouted wings.

_Did Draco Malfoy just seek me out and ask me, semi politely, for a book? _She continued to stare at him, and noted absentmindedly that his normally pale complexion looked a little green.

Draco wasn't sure why the hell he'd decided to ask her for a book, instead of insulting her, but he blamed it on the fact that he still felt a little off-kilter from the motion sickness. He hadn't had the energy to think of a witty slur against her blood purity, and instead decided he just wanted to read something.

He was expecting her to refuse, and had been planning to insult her readily when she didn't comply, until she finally did decide to give him one. He hadn't been expecting her to close the book she'd had in her lap and hand it to him. He took a step forward and snatched the heavy, dark red leather bound edition of Imbuing Items with Dark Properties from her outstretched hand.

He sent her one last conceited glare before slamming her door shut again and queasily making his way back to his car.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The train pulled in to the station and Hermione hefted her bags up from the seat across from her. Making her way off the train, she saw Malfoy a few paces away across the concrete pad, and reluctantly approached him.

"There's a bus we can take that should drop us at the inn," he said without looking at her. "There's only one inn in this pitiful town." Malfoy sniffed, as if it was a personal offense that the town only had one motel.

It was definitely awkward, being in normal, day-to-day situations with Malfoy. Hermione wasn't quite sure how to handle the conversation, so opted not to say anything, and just gave a curt nod. She pulled her wheeled bag along behind her and made a hurried pace towards the sheltered bus stop a little ways away, where she sat on the stone bench and parked her bag behind her. Malfoy stayed a good fifteen feet away from her.

The large red bus arrived within minutes, and they were at the seedy stop near the motel within a quarter of an hour. It was the worse half of the small city, and Hermione nervously continued her brisk pace towards the blue neon sign announcing; MOTE (the L had been torn off, and was lying below the sign).

She didn't bother to look behind her, as she couldn't have cared less about where Malfoy was.

_I hope he gets robbed. _The sudden thought made her giggle when she envisioned Malfoy being held upside-down by his ankles and shaken, his coins falling out of his pockets and clinking on the cobblestone sidewalk.

She approached the dilapidated main building and took in the sight of the ugly orange paint, tacky lime green drapes, and scratched wood doors. _This is the only inn in this town? _She thought to herself, distractedly. _Pathetic. They could at least update the color scheme a little. _Almost tripping over the threshold, she entered the main lobby. It was hardly a lobby, as all it contained was a makeshift front desk and a tall, outdated lamp in the corner. A greasy lump of a man eyed her hungrily from behind said makeshift desk, and she caved her shoulders and crossed her arms, thoroughly disgusted. Malfoy filed in behind her, looking completely out of place in the ratty motel. He crossed in front of her, giving her as wide a berth as possible, before stepping closer to the old muggle man. Draco was going to let her do all the talking, but she didn't seem to be getting any closer, and he could see why.

Draco snapped his fingers impatiently in front of the man's face, getting his attention back from Hermione's small breasts.

"We need two rooms." Malfoy said, in the most condescending tone she'd heard him use yet. And that was saying something.

"We ain't got two rooms. Place's packed, ther's a football grudge match at the field this weekend, e'ryone's in town to see it." The ugly man looked back to Hermione, and even had the gall to wink at her. She saw when he spoke that his teeth were rotting, and she could smell his rancid breath from all the way behind Malfoy.

"You don't have _any_ rooms?" Hermione asked, disbelievingly. How anyone would want to stay in a place like this was beyond her, let alone enough people to fill the place up.

"Well now, I di'nt say that, we got a one-bed at the edge 'f the lot." His gaze wandered back to Malfoy as he continued. "And I'm gonna haf' to charge ye extra fer that, rooms'r in high demand."

Malfoy, not trusting himself not to hex the ugly muggle man right then and there, snarled and stormed back out into the parking lot. Hermione followed, feeling the disgusting man's eyes on her ass as she retreated.

"Malfoy," She yelled his name to his back as he continued to stride across the grimy parking lot. He didn't stop. "_Malfoy_," she repeated. He finally spun around to face her, and she couldn't see his expression in the dark, but she imagined it was furious.

"A one bedroom, Granger? I don't share rooms with mudbloods. I'll find the stupid heirloom and act like Dumbledore's little pawn all he wants, but I'm not lowering myself down that far."

Hermione sent him a death-glare, but if it affected him in the slightest, he didn't show it. "Well, I don't share rooms with obnoxious, inbred, egotistical slytherins, but it's not like we have any other choices." She spat back.

"Hold on, _w__hat _did you call me?" Malfoy closed the gap between them within seconds, and was once again towering over her again. "Repeat that, I dare you."

"Hmm? Which part, the part where I called you inbred? Okay, _inbred._"

He got a strange look on his face that she decidedly didn't like, and then he was suddenly grabbing her around the waist with a grip of steel. She struggled furiously, but he didn't budge. He drew her closer and buried his nose in the crook of her neck, in her hair, and inhaled deeply. She let out a small squeal of disgust.

"Well, Granger, we can share a room if you'd like, but then I'm not responsible for my actions towards you," he whispered provocatively near her ear. He was so close she could feel his lips against her earlobe. She knew he was doing it just to scare her, but that didn't stop it from being any less terrifying. Tense shivers trailed their way down her spine, and she suddenly remembered her wand. When she pulled it out of her jacket pocket and jabbed it into his ribcage, he finally let her go. She stumbled backwards and kept her wand aimed at his chest. His face was a mask of dark, unreadable emotions, and he slowly raised his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"I'm joking, Granger, wipe that look off your face. And fine, but I get the bed. Get the bloody room before I change my mind."

"If you try anything like that _ever_ again, I'll kill you." Her shaky voice betrayed her true level of fear.

He snorted. "Please, like I'd actually want to shag you_._ _Potter's_ got more feminine appeal."

She breathed an exasperated sigh and reluctantly trudged back into the little lobby with the perverted bald man, exchanging some muggle money for the key to the room.

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Draco fumbled with the key in the lock for a moment before it finally clicked home and the scratched wood door swung open. The room was extremely small, and the bathroom was downright tiny. Hermione pushed him out of the way and hefted her bags inside, swinging them up and setting them on a chair near the back of the room. Draco followed behind her and pushed her forwards from behind, rather immaturely, before setting his own bags down on the bed.

There was a brief awkward silence as neither knew what to do, then Hermione was locking herself in the tiny bathroom and Draco was pulling out his borrowed book and reclining back on the questionably clean motel bedspread.

Hermione looked around the miniscule lavatory and sighed. There was a small bathtub with a shower curtain to the back of the room, and a scuffed sink to her left. She pulled a towel off the rack and placed it in the bottom of the tub before climbing in and lying down. It was uncomfortable, but it was better than sleeping in the same room as Malfoy. The sun was already sinking in the sky outside, and it had been an extremely long day, so she forgot about dinner and decided to put off worrying about anything till the morning.

She pulled out her wand and used it to flick the lights out, before arranging her body in the most comfortable position possible in the porcelain bathtub and falling into a restless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N

In response to buttercup88; I was planning on putting something like that in this next chapter. Thanks for noticing :)

And thanks to all for your reviews! I greatly appreciate them, and I read every single one. So review review review!

*~*Chapter 5*~* Friday

Draco woke with a start, the dark red book still in his grasp, and still dressed in yesterday's clothing. _Shit, did I fall asleep? _His mind struggled to grasp on to reality and climb out of his dreams, and he put down the book on the bed next to him. Quickly scanning the room with still sleep-dust filled eyes, he saw no sign of the mudblood. _She must be out, already. Probably getting breakfast_. He climbed off the now wrinkled bedspread and made his way over to the bathroom, only to discover the door was locked. _Oh, well guess not. _Banging on it twice, he received no reply, so he proceeded to mutter an _alohomora _and shove open the door. He was greeted with the sight of Granger, asleep (and drooling rather unattractively, he might add) in the bathtub.

He had to pee, badly, and for a second he was simply going to shake her awake and tell her to leave. He decided on a bit more cruel approach, and conjured a large plastic cup. Filling it completely with ice cold water from the tap, he didn't hesitate in dumping the whole glass over her sleeping form.

She gasped awake, disoriented, her eyes going wide. Her hair was wet and no doubt ice cold, as was her face and part of her muggle jacket. Her eyes finally landed on him, and the look on her face was priceless.

"_MALFOY!_" He had half a second to register her wet form clambering out of the bathtub before she was flying at him with her fists, and he was retreating back into the main room. His arms flew up to protect his face, and she in turn landed rabbit punches to his exposed stomach. He responded with a choked out; "_Oof,_" before the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he was forced to sit. She didn't let up.

"Alright, _alright enough!_ I had to wiz, and you weren't waking up. Enough! _Quit hitting me!_" Hermione smacked him one last time over the head before letting out a frustrated noise and stomping over to her bag to fish out some dry clothing.

He stood and brushed his clothing off, smirking evilly at the back of her dripping head. His steps were light as he made his way back into the bathroom.

After she'd changed out of her dripping garments (_Malfoy, what a fucking twat)_, Hermione gazed around the tiny motel room. It had been hidden from her in the semi darkness and weak lamplight from the one light fixture in the room the night before, but in the morning light filtering in through the grimy window, she could see how truly filthy the place was.

There was a film of dust collected over the top of the bedside desk, and there were scratches and scuff marks covering the walls. The drapes were ratty and clearly older than she was, and the bedding was no different. The carpet must've once been white, or cream, but now it was a shade of smoky greyish-yellow with various colored stains peppering its surface.

As she took in the ghastly filthiness of the place, her lip slowly curled in a look of disgust.

Pulling her wand out of her pocket, she rid her mind of its morning clutter, and performed multiple _scourgifies_ on the various surfaces. Finally satisfied that everything was at least semi-sanitary, she plunked down on the bed and sighed.

If someone would've told her, a week ago, that she'd soon be staying in a one bedroom muggle motel with Draco Malfoy, she'd have deemed them irretrievably insane. Hermione still didn't fully believe it. She was waiting for her brain to catch up to the situation and finally wrap around the fact that she was staying in a motel with Draco Malfoy.

She sat on the bed and pondered, rubbing her temples absentmindedly and staring at a smudge on the wall.

The bathroom door was yanked open, making a hideous groaning noise as its bottom scraped the linoleum bathroom floor.

The aforementioned blonde slytherin emerged, and glared at the witch sitting on the small bed. It was _his_ bed, now. She had no right to be sitting on it, polluting it with her mudblood filth. She could bloody well sit on a chair or something.

"Get off my bed, you'll contaminate it." He remarked rudely. She broke her staring contest with the wall to give him a withering look, before laying back and making snow angels in the covers. Sitting back up again, she simply looked at him, but he could see the corners of her mouth tweak upwards in a hidden smile.

"How terribly mature, Granger." He spat.

"Well, you started it." Hermione was in a strangely chipper mood, despite how rudely she was woken up.

Yawning and stretching her hands towards the ceiling, she felt a pang in her lower back and winced. The unpleasant soreness knocked her mood down some. Her back ached, and she vowed to steal his pillows or do a spell tonight to make her bathtub/bed more comfortable.

Tugging her muggle shirt back down when it threatened to expose her stomach, her gaze traveled back over to Malfoy, and she found him staring at her.

Still standing by the bathroom doorway, he had a strange look on his face. She couldn't place the emotion behind it, but it was decidedly hostile. Added to Draco's normal intensity, she had to stifle the urge to hide under the covers to avoid it.

She stood her ground and stared back at him with her chin jutted out and her nose in the air, albeit a little ridiculously. She would _not_ show that prick any weakness.

His intense, strange gaze remained on her for longer than socially acceptable, and when he finally looked away, he ran his hands through his hair and pulled fresh clothes out of his bag like nothing had happened. Leaning forward, he reached over his shoulders behind his back and grabbed fistfuls of his t-shirt, then quickly pulled the material over his head. Still wondering what he could've been thinking just then when he looked at her like _that_, she stared dazedly at his naked upper half. Then reality caught up to her, and her eyes finally relayed the current information to her brain.

Wait, _hold on_, did Draco Malfoy just take off his shirt?

Oh no, no way. Completely unacceptable.

"_What are you doing?"_ Hermione half choked out, incredulously. The question had left her mouth before she could form anything more intelligent. She could feel the heat of her embarrassment creep up her neck, burn in her cheeks, and then make its way to the tips of her ears. It didn't help that Draco was still shirtless and now raising his eyebrows slowly. He tossed his shirt back in his bag on the bed and stood unabashedly in front of her.

"Aren't you supposed to be brainy, Granger? _I'm getting undressed_," he enunciated the last bit slowly and precisely, as one would address a half-wit.

"W-Why?" She stammered. _Way to go, Hermione. Really one with the intelligent statements today, aren't we._

"So I can get redressed. In clean clothing." He continued in his enunciating tone, his face portraying arrogant amusement. He looked at her like a haughty adult would look at a bumbling toddler.

Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding and regained a sliver of her composure when she realized he wasn't planning rape.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm still in the room." Her lips pressed together and she forced her eyes to not stray below his chin. She could tell he was enjoying her discomfort, and once again she suspected he was doing this whole act on purpose.

_He's just trying to make you uneasy, Hermione, stop being such a wimp._

It was definitely working, though. Her anxiety was growing rapidly.

"And?" Malfoy's face was nearly expressionless, but she could still see a trace of his trademark arrogant smirk.

Slowly, his hand traveled down to his pants zipper, and began tugging it down. Hermione instantly shot up from her seat on the bed, made a distressed noise, and pushed past him to hide in the bathroom.

He outright laughed, then, and she tried to ignore it as she slammed the door shut.

She also tried to ignore the fact that she had touched Draco Malfoy's bare chest when she pushed him out of the way.

_Yuck._

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Draco watched the mudblood from behind as she readjusted her small daypack's strap on her shoulder. Her plain black shoes squelched as she stepped across an unavoidable mud puddle, and he felt a look of smugness overtake his features as he witnessed her discontent at the mud seeping into her socks. Despite the fact he had to step in the puddle as well, his mind delighted in her discomfort. It was funny how the littlest unhappiness on her part could make his whole day.

He could honestly admit he was happier than he'd been in a while. Having this much time alone to torture the bossy witch was soothing. His mind focused less on death now, and more on witty retorts and biting remarks.

He knew they'd normally have cast a quick charm to be rid of the muddy shoes, but they were surrounded by muggle houses, and it would be petty to risk their magic being seen to cure wet socks.

She readjusted the strap yet again and opened the front gate of the fence surrounding the little cottage. The mud puddle was more a pond than a puddle, and it happened to be plopped down right in front of the gate. The day was cold, the bite in the air was proof to the beginning of fall, and his wet toes went numb quickly.

Her toes must've been frozen too, as when they were standing on the front steps waiting for the door to be answered, she tapped the ends of her plain shoes on the stone steps as if to knock some life into them.

He ignored the urge to do the same.

The cottage they stood in front of was cute, in a mundane way. Draco much preferred grand elegance like the Manor, but he had to admit the little hut had its charms. It was painted a cheery yellow with shrubbery lining the front and a well-trimmed lawn. The windows gleamed and the door was a warm brown, with a little gold rimmed peek-hole a little lower than his eye level.

The cottage was warm, charming, and inviting, whereas the Manor was cold, gothic, and darkly beautiful. They were rather like opposites in a lot of ways, but they were both appealing.

However, Draco would never live in such a small house. It appealed to him in the way country music might appeal to a rap artist. It wasn't unpleasant to him, but it wasn't his style.

Granger had knocked three times briskly a few minutes ago, and there was still no reply. Just as she was raising a fist presumably to knock again, they heard a commotion coming from inside.

There was a scuffling noise, a few yapping barks from a small sounding dog, and a few thudding footsteps before the warm colored door was being opened inwardly.

When dealing with muggles Draco usually left all the talking to Granger, as he had no idea what to say half the time. He'd avoided Muggle Studies in school, as it was far below a pureblood student like himself to take such a class. There was an unspoken agreement between Granger and himself that she'd do pretty much all the talking, and she seemed perfectly content with the agreement. She was a serious control freak, he was realizing.

The woman who opened the door was short, even shorter than Granger, with shoulder length curly black hair. She looked to be about 50. She had a round face, and her body was slightly pear-shaped. There were smile lines around her mouth and her brown eyes looked friendly, but her expression was surprised and a little curious at the moment, as she was probably wondering why there were two teenagers on her doorstep on a school day.

"Hello, ma'am," Granger started before the woman could say anything. "Sorry if we interrupted anything, but we're here for a school project on cottage architecture. Your house is an impeccable example of exactly what we're looking for, would you mind too terribly if we took a look around? I'm sorry if it's a strange request but we've been searching for a cottage like this one for _ages_."

Draco wondered how long it took her too-honest, goody-goody gryffindor brain to come up with that lie. Probably the whole trip over.

"Oh, yes, I suppose. Yes come inside, oh I'm so sorry about the puddle, shoot, it's ruined your shoes." The woman spoke in a hasty manner, but her voice was friendly. Draco and Granger stepped over the threshold into the warm house, and the woman politely asked them to remove their shoes. Draco could see why, they were mud soaked, and the house had plush, clean carpets.

"I'm Anthea Rose, by the way," Granger suddenly said, and Draco shot her a questioning look. "And this is my project partner Douglas Doofinshmidt."

_Ah, fake names, _he realized. _But fuck, really, Granger? Doofinshmidt? _He sent her a subtle glare, but she ignored him.

The woman nodded and smiled at him, no doubt pitying him for his silly name.

He would make Granger pay for that, later.

"It's very nice to make your acquaintance, I'm Christina Chamberlain."

Granger smiled politely, and the situation got quickly awkward as no one seemed to know what to do next.

"Ah, well, yes, shall I show you two around, then? What all do you need to know about the house?" Christina rambled.

Granger's eyes widened and she faltered. She probably hadn't planned this far ahead in her lie. No doubt she'd just rehearsed that one little stanza to get them both in the door, and hadn't thought to go any deeper. _Amateur liar._

But her stumbling was saved, as all of a sudden another form emerged from a doorway presumably leading back into a living room type area.

Draco faintly registered the fact that Granger's breath caught and her cheeks flushed, as a rather attractive lad a little older than both of them dressed in nothing but muggle jeans and socks strolled in and gazed at her curiously.

And for some strange, unknown reason, Draco's mood darkened.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N

Teehee. Lots and lots of yummy shirtless men.

*~*Chapter 6*~* Friday

He had dark hair, and beautiful brown eyes, which first landed on Malfoy, then flicked to Hermione and stayed there. Her cheeks turned even pinker under his gaze, and she knew he noticed. He had a boyish, mischievous face which would've looked too young for her tastes had he not also had an extremely sexy, utterly manly, carved 6-pack.

Unlike with Malfoy, this time she let her gaze travel down his body for a moment, before snapping her eyes back up to his. The depths of his dark brown eyes were still focused on her, and she saw his eyebrows rise ever so slightly; he had obviously seen her ogling him.

_He must be out of school, already. _She thought, as it was early afternoon on a Friday, and most students would be in school. _I wonder how old he really is... _ He had one of those faces that made his age hard to place. She discreetly raked her eyes up and down his form again when he wasn't looking, and a pleasant tingle ran from her toes to the top of her head. He really was exquisite. And he was even taller than Malfoy.

A woman's voice broke through her thoughts, dragging Hermione out of her fantasies.

"Ah, this is my son Ian. Ian this is Anthea Rose," she gestured to Hermione, then turned to gesture to Malfoy, "and Douglas Doofinshmidt." Ian nodded at both, either unfazed by Malfoy's weird name, or extremely good at hiding his amusement.

Hermione had to chew her lower lip to keep from laughing at the ridiculous name she'd created for Malfoy. She knew she'd pay for it ten times over in the future, but it was worth it to see him cringe when it was spoken. And if they were to be researching this cottage for a while, he'd be stuck with it until they left.

Malfoy's murderous gaze was locked on her, she knew, but it didn't dampen her amusement. _Doofinshmidt_. She chewed her lip again.

"Hello," Ian's voice was low and smooth, and it was like music to her ears after the torture of nothing but Malfoy's hideous, arrogant tones for the past 48 hours. The dark haired boy still looked a little confused, but his smile was polite.

"Hi," Hermione shyly smiled back.

She could hear a disgusted noise disguised as a cough come from the blonde behind her. She stifled the urge to roll her eyes. Couldn't he just butt out, for once? Nosy, stuck-up, judgmental prat.

Christina turned to her son and explained what the two teenagers were doing in her cottage on a Friday, and he suddenly looked at them strangely, his brows drawn down and eyes skeptical.

"What school do you attend? I haven't seen you in Saint Ignatius." Ian asked in his low, smooth voice.

Hermione was mesmerized by it for a few seconds before realizing that he had asked a question. Kicking her brain into action, she played the words he'd spoken again in her brain, and actually registering the words this time, she drew a blank.

He must've been referring to the one school in the town they'd arrived in. She began to panic, and she scrambled for an acceptable lie.

Once again she was saved, though, as Malfoy stepped in and answered the question.

"We're from a private school in the hills." He said, dismissively. He was radiating a silent power, dark and calculating, even with his shoes off and his socks wet. But she knew him well enough now to know it was an act. Hermione had no idea why he was putting up these airs in front of the muggles. They'd been more than accommodating so far. She was surprised the woman had even let them into her house on a Friday with such a flimsy, peculiar explanation. The muggle woman was being extremely hospitable, Malfoy had no reason to be acting superior.

And, with that thought, she suddenly found herself knowing exactly why he was doing it.

_That arrogant, good-for-nothing, bigheaded, ugly, peroxide blonde arsehole. He thinks he's above the muggles. _She suddenly felt like hitting him again, and she had to clench her fists to stop them from flying at his pale face.

Her rage abruptly fizzled when she saw Christina out of the corner of her eye, glancing at her with a look of confused worry. She realized she'd been glaring at the side of Malfoy's head with her teeth gritted and her fists clenched, and quickly did her best to relax.

She'd punch him later.

"Oh, that's really lovely." Christina was still looking at Hermione concernedly, but she apparently decided not to say anything, and changed topics. "Well, anyways, what do you two need to know about the cottage?"

An idea suddenly came to the brunette, and she ran with it.

"Is there an attic? Or a basement?" Hermione asked. If there was anything of Vela's still in this house, it would probably be stored out of the way. It was a good place to start. The witch began to relax more and more as the academic side of her brain took over and pushed the emotional side out of the way.

"There's a small attic, yes. Not much room in there though, you can't stand up all the way. There are a few old documents in there about my ancestors. They owned the house before me, you know. It's been passed down for generations. The papers are fascinating to look at. There are also a few old paintings. I could show you if you'd like." Christina babbled, smiling at Hermione.

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. _Perfect_.

"We'd very much like to see the attic then, wouldn't we, Doug? It'd be a good place to really get the feel of the structure of the house." She was totally bullshitting, she knew hardly anything about muggle architecture, but apparently Christina was clueless on the subject as well. The older woman smiled and nodded, then turned to lead them. Ian stopped her before she could get too far, though.

"I can show them, Mum." He said in his deep, pleasing voice. The handsome muggle boy was very well-mannered, Hermione noted.

"Oh, very well. Thank you Ian. You know where everything is?" He smiled warmly and nodded at his mum, then fixed his gaze back on Hermione.

"I'll be in the kitchen, if anyone needs me." Christina finished, retreating cheerily across the room and out of the doorway Ian had entered through.

"A school project?" Ian asked in his attractive voice, addressing Hermione, and she blushed again and swallowed before nodding. She was a terrible liar, she knew. She hoped he wouldn't pry any deeper. Luckily he didn't, instead simply turning to lead them back past the front door and down another hallway towards the back of the small house.

She followed behind him, finding her eyes wandering all over his still naked back. He was apparently comfortable with this semi-nudity, as he'd still not retrieved a shirt. Her gaze trailed lower and lower, till she was effectively staring at his jean-covered ass.

_Merlin's beard_. She swallowed again and felt that toe-to-head tingling run back up her spine.

Lost in her filthy thoughts, now staring at the floor as she walked, she hadn't noticed Ian's tall frame had halted at the end of the hallway until she was crashing into said naked back.

After her front smacked into it and she felt the hot skin of his shoulder-blade on her cheek, she stepped back again on reflex. The sudden shift of her weight threw her off balance and she swayed, reaching out to him.

He turned around to steady her simultaneously, and this was how she somehow found her dainty, ink-stained hands on his naked muscular chest. His hands gripped her waist, holding her swaying form upright. Her shocked stare bored into his brown depths, and she distractedly witnessed his pupils dilating ever-so-slightly.

xxxxxxxxxx

_For fuck's sake._

Draco had watched Granger fawn all over the muggle oaf, Ian, for the past 20 minutes. It was wearing on his nerves. And now, watching him practically devour her with his eyes after she'd tripped and slammed into his naked torso (_he still hadn't put on a shirt, the tool)_, the blonde felt like he was going to hurl.

Apparently she wasn't that much of a prude after all. She was openly checking him out, her eyes roaming all over his form. _Filthy slut_.

The two clutched each other for a good 3 Mississippi's before they were stepping apart and Granger was apologizing multiple times, her face as red as a tomato.

Ian said nothing, simply laughing good naturedly. The arousal lingered in his eyes, though, and Draco felt like beating that look off his muggle face.

When the muggle boy turned away again to pull down a strange, collapsible set of steps leading to the attic, Draco couldn't help moving a little closer to the witch. The pull-out stairs got stuck halfway down, and Ian cursed and fiddled with them.

When Draco was close enough to whisper in Granger's ear, he leaned forward and did just that.

"_Mudblood slore_." It was hardly a whisper, more a hissed breath, but he could tell she'd heard. Her shoulders tensed and she balled her fists, no doubt restraining the urge to punch him. He stepped back again and watched as Granger tried to control her rage and Ian still fumbled with the pull-down stairs.

Earlier, as soon as Ian had walked through the doorway shirtless and caught Granger's eye, Draco had been filled with violent dislike. It was a combination of a lot of things that caused this dislike, but it mostly all boiled down to jealousy.

Draco didn't want to admit it, but that's definitely what it was. He was overcome by that stupid, ugly green monster.

There was a muggle that was more muscular, taller, and damn it all to hell, more attractive than him.

Draco obviously wasn't insecure, he knew very well just how devastatingly attractive he was, but somehow knowing there was a muggle out there who was just as good-looking as he was made him seethe.

He'd been told by his family all his life that muggles were something akin to dogs. Less evolved, stupid, and worthless, bumbling about the planet without magic.

The beliefs that muggles were generally lower than all wizards, infinitely lower than pureblood wizards like himself, had been hammered into his brain repeatedly since birth.

The muggle boy was probably less intelligent than himself, and would never be privileged to the knowledge that Draco knew, but he was still outwardly more attractive.

A good 2 inches taller, too.

It was a major blow to Draco's ego. A blundering, daft, plain-old _muggle_ could beat him in the looks department.

It was hard enough facing the fact that an insufferable mudblood witch could be smarter than him, now this?

_Fuck. Everything. All to hell. _He silently simmered in his anger.

Watching Ian fumble with the stairs gave him a pinch of his smugness back, but his mood was still effectively fouled.

With a grunt, Ian gave one last yank on the old wood and the stairs finally dropped down.

"Sorry about that," he said, red-faced from the effort and looking a little embarrassed.

Granger, still having difficulty controlling her rage from Draco's insult, brushed past the muggle quickly and ascended the almost-ladder.

The blonde slytherin sent a cold look towards the muggle before following, his nose not quite in the air, but close.

As soon as Malfoy's feet were firmly planted on the dusty wood floor in the attic, Ian began to climb the steps below. Draco begrudgingly shuffled closer to Granger to make room. The slytherin's head was uncomfortably bent, as the ceiling was low, and he wished he was still wearing shoes as the bottom of his wet socks were now coated in dust. They were up in the rafters of the house, and the walls were exposed beams draped in cobwebs. There were dust-covered cardboard boxes surrounding them, and he watched Granger as she gazed around the small space.

Ian's shoulders had just peeked above the floor when suddenly Draco heard an insistent yapping. It sounded panicked, and Ian let out an exasperated sigh. When it didn't seem to be letting up, he excused himself to go calm the dog, telling Granger to look around as much as she liked.

He didn't acknowledge Draco.

The two magical teenagers said nothing, unmoving, until Ian's footsteps faded into silence. Then before Draco could blink, Granger was shoving him backwards into a beam and stepping forward, blocking him from moving. Much like outside Dumbledore's office back at Hogwarts.

"_You obnoxious prat._" She hissed. "I hate you. I _fucking_ hate you. You have no right to say anything about me, you know _nothing_ about me. So. Shut. The. Fuck. _Up_. You've done nothing to help, and you're actually attempting to make things harder for me. When this all _will fucking help you_. I can't believe how stupid you are sometimes. I just can't believe it…" She had been gesturing wildly at him in her rant, but it had slowly faded into just staring at him with something similar to disappointment.

He blinked, bored.

"Are you done?" He made a show of yawning into his hand, giving her a look that told her nothing she'd said had fazed him in the least.

He expected her to blow up at him again, but instead she did something unexpected. Her warm brown eyes went from looking disappointment, to gazing at him with pity.

He felt his self-control snap and his expression go dark, again similar to Hogwarts.

_How dare she think she can pity me._

He stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and stared down cruelly at her freckled, heart-shaped face. Her brown eyes were now widening, and he could tell she was doing her best not to show any fear. Her efforts failed, she couldn't hold her own against his intense gaze anymore. She looked away, to his lower right.

He opened his mouth to begin his brutal tirade of insults, but suddenly found himself gazing at nothing but a dusty beam. She had pushed past him and was now halfway to the other side of the attic. The witch had a look on her face that told him if he tried to interrupt her, she wouldn't hear him. She was in her own world.

His mouth shut, almost comically.

Her back was to him, and her body hid whatever she was looking at, but then she was pulling the object of her attention out from behind a dusty box.

It was a painting. A fairly large one; she struggled with its weight. He stepped closer to look, and suddenly found himself face-to-face with a muggle portrait that looked eerily like himself.

It was a woman, however. She had long, thinning platinum hair and a strong jaw. Her lips were full, and she had intense grey eyes, which reminded him too much of his father.

He could see her shoulders, and from what he could see she looked to be wearing a black dress. A ridiculously large onyx stone hung on a chain around her neck.

Granger flipped it over carefully, reading a small inscription on the back of the portrait.

"Vela Malfoy… This is Vela Malfoy" She said, still studying the writing.

She flipped it over once more, gazing at the woman again. It was a muggle style painting, just simple paint on canvas. It didn't move, or speak.

Granger's intelligent brown-gold eyes suddenly locked on the onyx necklace.

He could almost hear the gears in her brain ticking.

"Malfoy… I read in Vela's journal that the heirloom was a necklace." She said, still squinting at the rock on his ancestor's chest. "Do you think this could be it?"


End file.
